


Dark Visitor

by BraveKate



Series: Dark Visitor [2]
Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Character Death, Established Relationship, Exandria is relevant but I only have so much space in my head for fake month names, F/M, Family, Family Feels, Future Fic, Gen, Grandparents & Grandchildren, I would even say Established de Rolo Dynasty, Mercer-adjacent, POV Outsider, Quarter Elves, Sibling Love, Siblings, Whitestone (Critical Role), Whitestone Gothic, but like... respectfully, so as usual canon is molded to my liking, they are Musketeers because it's gender-neutral M A T T H E W
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-04
Updated: 2018-09-04
Packaged: 2019-07-05 13:16:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,364
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15864378
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BraveKate/pseuds/BraveKate
Summary: Fredrickstein Raphael Von Musel Klossowski de Rolo II loves his Grandmother, but hates escorting patrols. And for a good reason, too. Things are about to get weird on this here fine night in Whitestone, when strangers are recieved for the first time since winter passed.***"I will see you again."





	Dark Visitor

**Author's Note:**

> LOVE THE TWINS, CAN YOU TELL?!

The stubborn strap of Freddie’s right bracer succumbed under his incessant tagging and fell into place. With that, attire for the evening assembled, there was nothing left standing between him and the cold wet night of Whitestone spring; worse yet – between him and duty.

Freddie cast one final glance at the floor-length mirror beside the doorway and heaved the single most resigned sigh known to quarter-elvenkind.

“We get it, brother!” Roxannah immediately shouted from a room over. Her voice carried a specific kind of glee, one born out of sibling schadenfreude. “You hate escorting patrols! Stop sighing like an old fart!”

“Yes, Freddie!” Valasca agreed – same distance, opposite direction. “I’m the eldest, and I feel less existential than you do!”

Both were right. Fredrickstein Raphael Von Musel Klossowski de Rolo II indeed hated escorting patrols. He also felt quite existential on the regular. And if he would be anyone else, he could continue to do so in peace. But Freddie came not from Aunt Viridiana or Uncle Vessarion, oh no. Freddie came from Sevastiahnna de Rolo Vessar, heir apparent to all things Whitestone, most prized fruit of plentiful union between _the _Percival de Rolo and White Baroness herself. Or Grandfather and Grandmother, to some.__

__Thus, escorting patrols._ _

__No one beside Freddie minded them, honestly; in fact, Am’mahlia – ever the little warrior – still enjoyed such activity in her budding adulthood. To each their own, of course. Certain people preferred not to waste precious laboratory time atop a horse, getting their liver shaken. Cousin Violetta understood; then again, she had always been the reasonable one._ _

__Freddie ignored his sisters with great purpose and braced against the inevitable. He strode through the castle, eyes gliding along the recently finished piping system: it surfaced here and there, like a shiny metallic snake – an engineering marvel, a thing of beauty. Hot and cold water, warmth for long winters and relief during short vicious summers. Filtering. Greywater discharge. What a tragedy Grandfather lived not to see his genius fully embodied at long last. Freddie wanted to touch the intricate de Rolo crest branded over one connecting elbow, run his fingertips along the protuberant ridge, but his gloves would get in the way._ _

__The front courtyard was swarming with night guard. Mother patiently awaited near the main stairway for people to conclude their preparations. Many were already mounted. The cold wind stung, made worse by lingering moisture, and everywhere the horses snorted, their breath torchlit and thus blooming in thick twilight._ _

__“Fredrick,” Lady Sevastiahnna greeted her middlest. Pelor’s light, the posture on this woman! The very air around her called to attention. Even the lady’s armor, cleaned and polished pedantically, made a grander impression than its practical design intended. She reminded Freddie of the White Baroness during equinox processions. “Good evening, my boy. How goes your laboratory work?”_ _

__“Mother,” he answered, accepting Serenade’s reins from a harried stable hand. The mare lapped at Freddie’s knuckles with her gray lips in shallow hope for a treat. “It’s going rather productively, I’m happy to report. A few more ho-”_ _

__As usual, Lady Sevastiahnna wore her brunette hair tied back. A stripe of white ran from forehead and up – experience a superior replacement for any coronet. The tiny water droplets gathered on it shone like a bejeweled veil when she turned to meet Freddie’s eyes fully._ _

__“Your experiments will keep.”_ _

__The cobblestones drew his gaze, elusive chastisement condemning. “Yes, Mother.”_ _

__Reward for such humility? A slap on the shoulder – a different touch compared to the parental caress on a cheek he might receive when sick or being so daft it capsized into endearing. This one was from a commander to her lieutenant, a reminder more than reassurance._ _

__“We ride!” Lady Sevastiahnna called after a parting clap, and her boots disappeared from Freddie’s field of vision._ _

__Standard formation left a place for Freddie to claim near the rear, among old friends. Easy conversation took him. Ahead, the hilt of Mother’s sword shone, reflecting fiery light when the canter sent her higher. Freddie rarely helped Lady Sevastiahnna lead these processions. He played a decent diplomat if need be, but meeker demeanor and somewhat reclusive nature did not make for a people’s darling. He was less recognizable than, say, bubbly and curious Am’mahlia or stately, magic-wielding Valasca. All for the better._ _

__Guard quickly descended from Castle Hill and aimed left, towards the Eastern Gate, the only point of entry available after sunset. Freddie’s earliest memories held its uncompleted shape, construction ongoing; Valasca could do one better and recall when both Eastern Ward and the River Run Road were just taking form. Mother, of course, played here as a child when Parchwood Timberlands still stood tall, separating Greyfield from the Estate._ _

__Their ride through the city was as quiet as possible, mindful of resting citizens. Rhythmic clapping of many hooves overlapped and acquired an echo, became a soothing song to please Erathis. Halfway, they’ve reached the Sun Tree crossroad; Freddie watched as every rider turned right to try and catch a glimpse of its golden foliage crowning the Dawnfather Square far ahead. He did the same. The Tree barely succumbed to fall anymore, evergreen, but newborn leaves sprouted each spring, brighter than their predecessors. Patchwork corridor of buildings with candlelit windows here and there framed its verdure perfectly. He felt soothed once he stared his fill, as if the very sight provided solace. Soon, ribbons and lanterns and merry songs would torrent down every street, and White Baroness would lead the annual walk along city walls and into its heart, lead her people to pray under the ancient brunches reaching to shelter them all, father-like. Freddie’s favorite celebration of the year, more beloved than even Winter’s Crest. He sighed wistfully._ _

__Caravans only started arriving this week, first visitors after months of whiteout isolation. Used to be, no one saw a fresh face until orchards shed their blooms. Now, with the roads Grandfather and Grand Aunt Cassandra negotiated, trade restored much earlier. And since the ports had awoken, even Wildemount ships began their voyages as soon as ice eased its grip on the shores, markets of Tal’Dorei not an afterthought anymore._ _

__Tonight Whitestone was to receive a chain of fifteen carts and forty-seven people: merchants and help, entertainers, several dignitaries. All a bit worn down from travel, but optimistic and hopeful with the promise of hot food and warm bed merely an hour away. While the guard surrounded their new charges, Lady Sevastiahnna went to catch up with the captain of River Run patrol. Captain’s people had been escorting the newcomers up from the rafting station; some even longer, from a portage point down where the Shearing Channel intruded deepest._ _

__Even if protective wards around Whitestone were second to none, marching awed visitors by the majesty of de Rolo family – its growing numbers and its godly blessings alike – proved a good prophylactic measure. Unlike Freddie, travellers didn’t know what dumbassery the highly impressive homes of Eastern Ward harbored. They only saw iridescent shrouds of magic, spires grabbing for stars; drilled-to-perfection Pale Guard and vigilant Musketeers with peculiar weapons – warriors and guardians. They saw gilded constellations glimmering across the dome of Gilmore Library and their trembling reflections in the healing waters of Everlight’s shrine. Temple of the Dawn, haloed by faint glow even deep into the night, hailing the near presence of its earthly champion._ _

__They saw themselves distorted in the black eyes of ravens: the birds habitually flocked along the road and watched the caravan progress almost silently, only a rare kraa to break the quiet._ _

__Freddie, on the other hand, knew of that one time Uncle Vessarion got drunk and ate a rock. Or that other time, when cousin Mirijanna cross-stitched her own palm to the canvas (which unburdened any and all embroidering activity on her brother). Or when the brother in question almost turned the whole town mad with his shawm practice – Scanlan’s idea, of course. So Freddie was less awed. More… jealous? They were all home, warm and dry, doing something if not useful, then entertaining, at least: perfecting their needlepoint or knife work or musical talents or whatnot._ _

__The ravens, though. Those unnerved him, as well._ _

__Tucked behind all of Eastern Ward’s shining glory, Altar of the Raven stood practically indistinguishable in the darkness. It was easy to forget its presence. Easy to turn away. But the somber temple didn’t cease to exist when left unobserved, so there wasn’t any point in trying. Freddie sighed and purposefully switched his attention that way, petting encouragements into Serenade’s neck – cawing made her nervous. He could discern the matt slabs of black glass that made up most of the cubic structure. And he could see the red stripe running down its façade to pool the porch with red tiles. As its walls melted into shadows, the temple looked like a fountain of blood: either frozen forever or running so smoothly it seemed like it was._ _

__Freddie’s surroundings fell heavy over his senses, overpowering him. The squeaks of leather, the weight of his pistol and sword, Serenade’s rocking gait, the smell of animals and tar – all too much. Rainbow halos embraced every dancing light. Inexplicably, his chest plate started constricting. Countless beads – raven eyes – took form of grotesque blinking constellations across the cupola of the night._ _

__Suspecting ambush, magic, an invisible foe, Freddie opened his mouth to raise alarm. But a voice interrupted: “My lord?” And viscous curtain of panic fell away._ _

__He whipped his head towards the source – a phantom? a monster? – to discover only a group of young strangers; clad in practical garb for the road, they looked surely not five years Freddie’s senior. All led their horses closer upon noticing the agitation. Embarrassment warmed his cheeks. A fit, the kind Grandfather used to have and Roxannah still suffered through, had almost overwhelmed him, and he preferred such moments kept private._ _

__“I am no lord, my friends, nor will I ever become one,” Freddie stated as firm as the shackles of politeness would let him. His voice never wavered – there was something to be said for breeding._ _

__One of the group tapped his forefinger against a disconcertingly _rounded_ ear shell. “But you are a de Rolo.”_ _

__“I am.” Freddie turned more fully towards the new acquaintances and bowed his head: “Fredrickstein de Rolo II, at your service. Lady Sevastiahnna is my mother.”_ _

__“Remarkable woman!”_ _

__“Indeed.”_ _

__Riders oohed in awe. Cadence of speech exposed them as Wildemount diplomatic cohort. Sent to make nice with the neighbors every year, they migrated as far South-West as Westruun, even Kymal, over the winter. Spring was calling their disheveled herd to board ships homeward bound after successful trade. Until Thunsheer came and went, Stilben, Whitestone, but especially Drynna would be bursting with deep yearning of Wynandirian song and alluring tales about the Menagerie Coast._ _

__Freddie succumbed to a tour guide’s fate, pointing out sights and holding back details no one but him found fascinating. As three of the quartet chased a viewing suggestion and trotted further along the slowly moving chain, one stayed behind. His black steed kept steady pace flank-to-flank with Serenade._ _

__“If you don’t mind me asking.” The flame of a nearby torch trembled too vigorously to not slip off the man’s face time and time again. A pale glimpse here and there hinted at delicate features, his black hood drawn low against the weather. The words, meanwhile, had a familiar lilt and flowed free of harsh Dwendalian consonants or gurgling Zemnian vowels. Local. And not a merchant, judging by the company he kept. In that case… A lobbyist, most likely, to be hosted in the castle alongside numerous colleagues. “Does your mother call you Freddie, by any chance?”_ _

__What a strange question. “Not quite. She calls me Fredrick, as you may do as well.”_ _

__“Good. I, however, sincerely hope there’s someone in your life to call you Freddie.” Freddie frowned at the weird turn their newborn conversation took, but erased such unseemly expression in time for a follow-up. “Do the birds scare you, Fredrick?” Long, unbraided hair shifting, ink-like, atop his chest plate, the man nodded towards roadside hedges. Several ravens flopped their wings lazily, for show._ _

__Freddie hummed, deep in thought. “Not exactly. I suppose, they might seem eerie if one puts oneself in a morbid mood. I apologize if I seem to be in throes of the latter. Patrolling is not my forte.” He sighed. “At the end of the day, these birds simply live here. Like my family does. Plus, Grandmother loves them.”_ _

__“Your voice turns warm when you speak of her.”_ _

A memory, rich with green scents, shouted in worried voices from a summer long gone. A hand, neat crescents of trimmed nails and skin browned by sunlight, covering Freddie’s busted knee. Gentle glow from underneath a rough palm, putting an end to the blood. Callused fingertips caressing the healed patch after, ticklish. _Here, good as new. Let’s not tell your mother, huh, darling? Yes, Vex._ Grandmother always insisted “youngsters” call her Vex. 

__He was talking before he knew it._ _

__“She is loved. When we were little, my siblings and I… She would let us ride her bear companion. And she was always the only adult to laugh at our, objectively lacking, jokes. Make us cakes and cookies from scratch, fletch us arrows…” No good. To him, she was Grandmother. To others, tales of kind touches and mischief were less impressive than a hero’s ballad. Freddie adjusted his tone and posture, chin up. “The White Baroness is a fierce warrior – a dragon slayer! – and a just protector. She brings Pelor’s guidance, and her magic is sage and powerful. Whitestone is blessed to have her ladyship’s favor and service as the Mistress of the Grey Hunt.”_ _

__“She is loved,” the stranger echoed with unexpected reverence._ _

__“Correct. By her people as much as family.”_ _

__Aunt Rosalinda’s house absorbed by cityscape, Northern Ward spread out before the procession. Ruckus gained momentum as people realized their safety in full, both the glitz of Eastern Ward and dangers of the forest finally behind them. Freddie knew better than to fear local woodland lurkers: many were protectors, tamed by the White Baroness, or otherwise harmless. But better let mystery fester, feed unease._ _

__Standing vigil over everything, an archaic sentinel, was the castle. Always so much taller from the plain. Glaring between shoulder blades of those leaving, but greeting arrivals eye to eye. It drew attention with static arcane lights atop the battlements, its silhouette a cutout void against starry sky. Many a night had passed by, carrying peace and war, celebrations and requiems. Yet, the castle persevered. There was a certain serenity to be found in the fact._ _

__As carts started peeling off to the left, beaconed by numerous inn and tavern signs, the sightseeing trio returned. Freddie delved into Whitestone founding myth, and by the time all leftover guests ascended the hill, anyone would think twice before asking more questions. Hosting ritual commenced, back-and forth and pitter-patter of castle valetry comforting to an accustomed ear._ _

__“And you’ve mentioned that lordship is not in your future?”_ _

__Freddie jerked in his saddle, the presence of coy stranger having escaped his awareness already. “Indeed,” he rushed to answer, tightening the reins on startled Serenade. “I have two siblings bookending me on each side.”_ _

__“Your ancestor, Percival de Rolo, never expected to shoulder lordship either, if I remember correctly.”_ _

__Earlier, Freddie avoided this particular gaping wound in history by an official “brief hostile occupation”. Bringing up the massacre, especially at this late an hour, stood in rather poor taste. Taken aback, he stared mutely at the man’s slender figure. Was he supposed to get offended? Or educate another’s clumsy naïveté? “Excuse me?”_ _

__“It’s always a good idea to be prepared. Better safe than sorry. Trust me.”_ _

__The very outline of his person turned odd. Fuzzy. Laboratory surely required a more substantial airing out if visual hallucinations were to await Freddie at the slightest sign of distress._ _

__An ear-splitting “kraa!” burst by his right shoulder and, spooked anew, Freddie spun to face the sound. One of the thrice-cursed ravens cocked its head at him from a nearby jamb pedestal. Its plumage harbored rainbows like a pool of oil; impressive beak parted to set another cry free._ _

__Heart under his tongue, Freddie cussed internally. “Silly crea-”_ _

__But the man was gone. A single black feather clung, resisting the wind, to the pavement seam where his horse just hooved. Slightly farther into the courtyard Wildemount representatives were being ushered along; he must have retreated to escape the unseemly remark made._ _

__“Fredrick!” Lady Sevastiahnna hailed then, and no more time was left to waste._ _

__***_ _

__Gilded curls of leaves and flowers intertwined to frame the portrait. Oil, varnished. Grandmother in her youth, sometime between the first two offspring, sat in a high-backed chair with Great Aunt Velora, barely a teen, by the armrest. One couldn’t always rely on paints and brushes to preserve reality; every person in the family agreed that Grandfather’s dining hall portrait was a blight upon the land. But for this piece, a birthday gift, the most skilled Whitestone-born artist had been commissioned. Once a stable hand, he didn’t gain international recognition for nothing._ _

__Those of elven blood, time touched differently. Even Freddie’s generation, heirs to barely a diluted drop, felt the influence. Friends he ran around market square with, pre-breeching, and later trained alongside were maturing now, settling into their bones and bodies. Some, having shaved in the morning, would be sporting a blue jaw by dinner. Meanwhile, he remained “a wisp of a thing”, as Uncle aptly put it. Reflective surfaces teased a wide-eyed creature barely on the cusp of adulthood, though Freddie had seen enough winters to be considered a grown man. Valasca, a full-fledged second-in-command to her lady mother, shared this fate, but used it to her advantage. Many were quick to dismiss a “maiden” in political setting, making it easier for said maiden to one-up them._ _

__For as far back as Freddie could recall, Grandmother never changed. She had a lovely heart-shaped face where nothing but smile lines and crow’s feet at eye corners marked the decades passed. Unlike de Rolo side, Vessar retained full heads of dark hair. A warrior’s life kept her in shape to draw a longbow and remain saddled for days on end. A diplomat’s life kept her mind and tongue sharp. Only the last couple of years had been unkind, health-wise. Mother worried. She removed the Baroness from her crumpled Estate with never-ending chain of petitioners running straight through to be relocated here, where peace, quiet, and Valasca’s healing abilities were at the ready during all hours. So was “slow death via boredom”, according to the woman herself._ _

__Freddie studied Vex’s meticulously painted delicate features, her clear piercing eyes, so alive. The portrait used to be displayed _in_ the master bedroom, but Grandmother banished it to the hall as soon as dust settled. She was never vain or known to seek mirrors out – quite the opposite. Roxannah put the blame on her late brother. Twins, they were; identical down to the last beauty mark, the last feature. Freddie tried imagining a man with Grandmother’s eyebrows, cheekbones. Her suspended image was adorned with customary braid, and the one revealed ear had a dark feather tucked behind it._ _

__A strange feeling, almost a tickling under his frontal bone, made Freddie cringe. Staring hard at the wisps of black did not help: nothing came to light. Penalties for riding past the temple and having that weird conversation drag Briarwoods up. What nonsense. He squeezed his eyes shut and sighed heavily._ _

__“Freddie, my gloomy child!” Came a call from behind the door. Hopeless endeavor, sneaking up on a master. “I know it’s you! Stop hovering and enter!”_ _

__There was, indeed, someone. But the knowledge was private, not to be shared with outsiders. Freddie braced himself and obeyed._ _

__Stained glass windows, their beauty wasted in the night, gaped open to let wind in. Despite crackling fireplace, the room sheltered a chill. Soft shadows were trembling in the corners, a substitute for spider webs. Something else moved: Fenthras, ever a disgruntled coil of vines, kept shifting and re-adjusting on its wall mount. Smoothly, slowly, snake-like. The legendary weapon used to spook Freddie when he was younger, but only served to sooth now. Here and there, a small green leaf peeked just to be hidden again by a slither of bark. The bow for victory over any monster or enemy silly enough to come looking._ _

__“Vex,” he greeted. “How did you know it was me?”_ _

__The heavily embroidered canopy had been left open. Though weighty duvet lay cast aside, a cocoon of sheets held Grandmother hostage quite successfully. Always on the right side of bed – Freddie presumed the left once belonged to her husband. Old habits._ _

__“You sigh more and more like your Grandfather used to. It’s uncanny,” she explained, smiling._ _

__Her words caused pleasure to slit Freddie’s eyes. Percival de Rolo passed before Freddie had mastered his letters, leaving only a handful of vague glimpses to be remembered by. A smell of black powder, a shock of white hair – thin, see-through, like a midsummer dandelion. Luckily, vivid in the mind’s eye stood Grandfather’s laboratory, always brimming with mysterious sparks and wonders. Freddie and cousin Violetta called themselves masters of its secrets these days, causing Grandmother much glee. To quote, “nerds should always preside down there.”_ _

__“Really?” He asked, sounding childish to his own ears._ _

__Vex's smile widened. Some flyaway hairs were stuck to her glistening forehead. Fever sweat? “Come sit by me,” she invited, scooting to make room, and patted the mattress beside her hip; Freddie followed the instruction gingerly. Lush carpet ate any footsteps, but sheets rustled under additional weight. Medicinal smells of wormwood and lavender honey he came to associate with Grandmother were much thicker from up close. “You look a lot like Percy. Except for the glasses. But that’s a good thing you don’t need them.” The hand to cup his face felt scorching. Antipyretic draft- “Oh, how I love looking at you, my darlings. You remind me every sacrifice was worth it,” Grandmother whispered, glassy-eyed. She kept tenderly caressing Freddie’s temple with her thumb, until a tear got blinked down one flushed cheek. “All right. Enough moping. Are we insomnia buddies again?”_ _

__“Tonight was my turn to patrol. Newcomers are… curious about the family past.”_ _

__Vex huffed and began propping herself up with one elbow, sheets exposing a frilly neckline of her night gown. “Assholes, the lot of them. Let me-” Strength left her limbs in one terrifying swipe, and she fell on the pillows, coughing._ _

__Fever, after all! Freddie’s heart plummeted. He swept the bedside table and a landscape of lingering illness atop it: rugs used and clean, vials and jars, half-full cups. No antipyretic._ _

__He jumped to his feet. “I’ll get Valasca!”_ _

__“No, no… no use in waking her, too. She needs the rest. It’s fine.” Grandmother waved dismissively. The skin of her wrist was so pale, almost glowing, veins bluish in the dim light. Accumulated cold finally bit full force, and Freddie begged: “Let me close the windows, at least!”_ _

__Grandmother’s head shook as the horrible cough kept heaving up her throat. “Please, don’t. I want to hear the ravens.”_ _

__It had been shocking for Freddie, the first time he bore witness to a bout like this. Having known the woman simply shrug off any prior hurt, illusions of immortality used to reign over his mind. How fast those had been shattered! Pike’s soft, sympathetic face buried them forever._ _

__Desperate to do _something_ and stop feeling useless, Freddie scrambled for a fresh handkerchief. His rummaging through a wardrobe drawer must have been unnecessarily loud, because it nearly drowned out the caw. As if summoned by the mistress, a raven landed on the windowsill. Its feet messed up the even pattern of condensation gathered there; beads merged to form rivulets, tiny waterfalls that ran off the edge. Was this a new bird? The same one as before? Hard to tell. _ _

__Vex’s coughing stopped, and a new voice suddenly interrupted the pause: “Your wish is my command.”_ _

__Familiar hood, stark silhouette in the doorway. The world seemed to coil denser around the intruder’s shoulders, creating a more impactful contrast. There should have been three pairs of guards patrolling the stretch between main hall and this particular tower. Yet, the man stood in the castle’s heart, its sanctum, like it mattered not._ _

__Walls curved inwards, pressing to destroy the space. Freddie's hand flew for his dagger as he growled, teeth bared: “You can’t be here!” Just to get completely ignored._ _

__“I told you I’ll see you again.”_ _

__Sitting up straight without effort, Vex exhaled: “Brother,” and it travelled the room gently – a rustle of fallen leaves across the road. The relief contained in her single breath was almost palpable; Freddie felt it down to the very bottom of his soul. Goosebumps overtaking his skin, he traced its trajectory to see…_ _

__Fear from a night road, answer to a failed exercise: a man with Grandmother’s face, hood gone. Her eyebrows, and cheekbones, and jaw. Several lines were harsher in places, a few shapes fuller, thinner. But what minute details matter before the face of eternity. Unbraided hair spilled down the sides of it like tar, ends melting into a feathered mantle. One worthy of the Raven Queen’s champion._ _

__Familiar eyes, mortal and patient, were chained to their alive reflection. A smile grew under them in the same way the moon grows, or water rises to overfill river banks during spring flood. Certain elements were always destined to seek each other out, meet, bond; complete the reaction._ _

__When Freddie looked back, terrified of this unblinking gaze, Vex’ahlia no longer lived. Her fingers spasmed over a pillowcase one last time and succumbed to static. The raven took off right after – wings as loud as thunderclaps. The doorway, too, was left vacated. Freddie stood, alone in the bedroom that felt so crowded a moment ago. Free to watch Grandmother’s final smile._ _

__***_ _

__Over the vast expanse of Parchwood Timberlands, Galdric the wolf howled._ _

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading my story!
> 
> Disclaimer: English is not my first language.
> 
> XOXO


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